- --- - - - -- --
Not again, not again, not again
this dream; I cannot wake
What is real? what is real? what is real?
It's getting hard for me to take
What I need; what I need; what I need
The little something I delight
And the white sugar gently hides me
- - - - - - -

Henry took in a sharp breath and exhaled with a soft moan. Italmost seemedhe had forgottento breathe.
There he lay taking in one breath after the other, in no hurry to open his eyes, unsure into what world shall he come to.
The black film that contained his awareness cracked with the slow blinking.

His vision shivered, his eyes adjusting to the flood of light. It brought pain to the front of his skull.
Finally he was able to focus his vision to the rotating blades of the ceiling fan. His throat was parched and dry. It barely mattered as Henry savored the drab familiarity of his bedroom, forgiving the nightmare it had inspired earlier. As long as the walls remained clean and hid nothing within them.
Indeed, they bore nothing but framed monochromatic photographs of Silent Hill: The Tolucalake hung over his bed, anddowntown by his bedroom window under the portrait of the lighthouse.
He rolled over to the side of the bed and sluggishly sat up.

"Oh, man," he muttered to himself, "what a dream."

Groggily he reached for the bottle of water on the side table, unscrewed the cap and raised the neck to his chapped lips. Only a few droplets slid down the ribbed, plastic vessel and into a dry mouth.Without regarding the bottle, he tilted further back in an empty hope to get more.

Nothing.

With a sigh, he screwed the cap back on and tossed the empty bottle in a wastebasket on his way out.

There was no static to be heard when Henry opened the bedroom door to the hallway. From the safety of the corridor he observed that the wall. The ghastly face of the weeping man was no where to be seen. The TV and radio sat silently, like well behaved children. It was day time. Strangely, not enough sunlight filtered into the apartment. Henry had kept the lights on regardless of time. They cast a soft white glow about the grey apartment.

He crossed the living room to the kitchenette, trying to ignore the apartment door.

Apparently that was his last bottle of water, as the cupboards and fridge bore none. Instead he pulled out a glass and poured tap water in it. Didn't the super say something about tenants being able to drink tap water?

Lukewarm, but hydrating nonetheless.

It's unfortunate the same couldn't be said about the bathroom water's temprature. His showerhead was in a miserable state, coughing cold sprays of water for the past few days that showering seemed more of a punishment. He decided not to endure the awful routine today, being low on toiletries and deciding to use them sparingly. He splashed some cold water on his face and regarded the sanguine crescents forming around his hazel eyes.

His apartment was never in such a neat condition. The last four days were spent cleaning. He prenteded the only reason he wasn't outside was because he was too busy dusting, sweeping, cleaning his photography equipment, and arranging his possessions. It was all he could do to occupy his mind, lest he ...

He leaned on the wall by the bookcase and looked out the window. His apartment was on the eastern wing of the building, with the windows overlooking the courtyard and the western wing. Observing the curious habits of the western wing tenants was another hobby he had adopted. It started out with him standing by the window trying to get someone's attention. No one seemed to notice his presence, even with him persistentlybanging onthe window glassfor as long as his legs could carry. Even hammer blows on glassdidn't proof any more effective than his fists.

He shifted his vision to the street that lay behind the building's west wing. A woman stood by the subway stairs. She stood out in her array of colorful clothes, but that was all what Henry could observe. The distance made her figure rather vague to Henry, and the dirty window glass didn't help provide a clear view anyways.
She glanced at her wrist - her watch most likely. Perhaps she was waiting for someone. She stretched her arms overhead and sauntered down the subway stairs.

The world went on - oh, how he envied these people who took a mere walk down the street for granted. How he longed to at least extend his confinement to the area range he can see out of his window.

He glared at his apartment door.

Five days ago... That's when I first had the nightmare. I haven't been able to get out of my room since then. The phone doesn't work, the TV doesn't work... I can't even get anybody to hear me when I yell...

He was walking towards the door without being very much aware of it, like it summoned him to have a closer look.

My whole world has suddenly turned insane... My door's chained up, the windows are sealed shut... And on top of that, someone chained the door from the inside. How am I going to get out of here?

He stopped at an arm's length, when he felt something strange crawling under the peephole. No, not crawling. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes lest they betray him. Scratches were forming, burning red marks that morphed into words carelessly scratched:

Do not go out.
Walter

He gave himself a mental shake and stepped in closer to examine the message.

A clatter outside his door alarmed him. He checked the peephole and caught a glimpse of a bobbing auburn head and a stripped top. It was Eileen Galvin – his twenty-something neighbor from Room 301. He couldn't see the floor, but from her motion it was apparent she was picking up glass bottles she dropped, putting them back into her grocery bag.

"Oh man," she muttered glancing at his door, brushing loose strands out of her face. "Hope my luck changes before the party..."

She then walked away, out of his line of vision. And Henry noticed something on the hallway wall facing his door. Did Eileen notice it too?

A crash detonated.

His heart thumped against his ribs, and for a moment he forgot what he had seen in the hallway. The explosion sounded like it either came from the bedroom or the bathroom. Gingerly, he tiptoed towards the bathroom, straining to hear, lest something else that might have come with the blast would stir.

Dead silence.

He took held his breath and opened the door to a crack.

From the narrow space he found a hole in his bathroom wall, between the sink and the toilet seat. The impact of the explosion shattered the rectangular mirror's. The dust had already settled on the pile of rubble that stopped the door from opening all the way. He managed to squeeze himself through the crack.

Upon examining the hole Henry found a loose, broken pipe protruding out of the hole. He pulled it out.

Whispers echoed down the hole's tunnel.

"S-Somebody in there?" he called weakly.

The whispers ceased. But no answer was returned.

He nudged the pile of rubble with the toe of his shoes and poked around with the pipe. Whatever made this hole wasn't likely to be able to hide easily. But the debris concealed nothing but the bathroom floor.

Then it occurred to him, as he looked from the rubble to the tunnel, that the rubble here was just enough to cover the mouth of the tunnel, not fill it up. He poked his pipe about the hole's esophagus, reaching far insideto see if there was a tunnel'send to tap.

There was no end to be found. It didn't make any sense. Then again, the state of his apartment, namely the door,hadn't made any sensefor the past few days.

One door closes, another door opens.

I wonder if I can get out this way...?

If his orientation was correct, and assuming the tunnel is straight, it'd likely lead him to Room 303. Or at least to the source of the hole. He traced his hands on the tunnel's mouth, trying to get a rough calculation of its diameter, he wasn't certain where it'd lead to or whether he could fit in the first place. The end was swallowed in darkness. This agitated him as he knew he didn't have a working flashlight on him. The pipe at hand, however, might serve to prod ahead of his path.

Henry pushed the pipe into the tunnel first, and crawled into it. He was thankful he was neither overweight nor claustrophobic as he barely fit his shoulders and torso in. Finally, his legs disappeared into the hole.

-- - - - - - --- - -- -- - -- - - -- -
Oh, the sweet sugar saves me
It's the room that confines me
-- - - - - - --- - -- -- - -- - - -- -